


Make a Heaven of Hell

by Lydia_Eve



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 00:14:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19262053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Eve/pseuds/Lydia_Eve
Summary: Aziraphale remembers Crowley's former name.





	Make a Heaven of Hell

_“I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell,  
To die upon the hand I love so well.”_  
– A Midsummer Night’s Dream

 

“What?”

It was intermission during a new theatre company’s take on _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , despite Aziraphale’s insistence that the tragedies were still better. Crowley had jokingly suggested Shakespeare had perhaps noticed the free miracle since there was so many references to angels in his plays. Aziraphale had seemed a little disturbed by the suggestion – a strange little frown coming over his face – and Crowley was half-way through a vague _I’m kidding, angel,_ when Aziraphale had said it.

Said a name. Said _the_ name.

_“What?”_ Crowley asked again, his voice quickly rising. “What did you just say?”

So Aziraphale said it again.

Crowley’s very human body went briefly slack. The glass of Riesling fell from his hand and crunched against the carpeted floor of the theatre lobby. If he hadn’t been slightly leaning against a railing already, he might have fallen. Fallen. His breaths started coming out fast.

Aziraphale only just seemed to realize his mistake, his eyes going round at Crowley’s obvious distress. “Oh, no, my dear, I just meant–”

Crowley let out a sob right there, and Aziraphale’s hands flew to Crowley’s shoulders. “No, no,” Aziraphale said, “no, _Crowley_ –” He quickly guided them to the end of the railing, a little out of the way, but still very much in public. Crowley tried to stop, he did. He couldn’t.

It had been _so long_ , and at the same time not at all. That name, the name of that which is _divine_ , the name he couldn’t claim anymore. Aziraphale wasn’t supposed to know it.

Aziraphale’s hands fluttered around Crowley’s shoulders as though not sure how to land. As though part of an angel should ever land on a demon. The thought was so ridiculous that a short hysterical laugh cut through his sobbing, though it sounded mostly the same. Since the non-end of the world last month, Crowley had been something resembling content, but if he were honest with himself, he would have probably described the emotion as closer to _bliss_. Not a day had passed without Aziraphale in it, whereas before they’d often go _years_. Even during Warlock’s raising, they often went months between conversations. Now there was nothing standing between them, and so nothing did. They took in sights at random, new restaurants, old plays. They spent many a comfortable evening with a bottle of wine and good-natured debate in the back of the bookshop. Crowley had relaxed into happiness as easily as a hot bath.

“My dear boy, please,” Aziraphale was saying, “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to cause this.”

“Why,” Crowley managed, “did you sssay it?”

Aziraphale’s worried eyes softened a bit – just a bit. “I just meant – I _remembered_ you.”

Crowley still couldn’t stop crying. His body shook from the effort of trying to control himself, and he was amazed when he couldn’t. He hadn’t been _him_ in over six thousand years, but that name in the angel’s voice was a bad shock.

“R-r-remembered?” Crowley gasped. “Remembered what?” When Aziraphale hesitated, Crowley insisted. “Tell me.”

“All right,” Aziraphale said gently. He took a long pause first. His hands had finally decided to rest hanging down by his sides. When he spoke, it was impossibly soft, the voice you use in the presence of a frightened animal or in prayer. “I remember white, shining wings.”

Crowley sobbed again at that, and this time Aziraphale’s hands came decisively to Crowley’s shoulders and stayed there.

Aziraphale continued, still gentle. “There was … long hair – more brown than now, and eyes that were blue.” Aziraphale smiled, almost to himself. “Yes, I believe they were blue, weren’t they? It’s such a distant memory now. I can barely recall.”

“Tell me more,” Crowley said, his sobs slowing as if they understood how badly he needed to hear Aziraphale.

“Maybe it’s someone else’s voice I remember, but I think I remember that, too.” Aziraphale’s eyes went off to the side, lost for a moment. “Yes, I remember the voice – a deep timbre – beautiful – but, I–” He frowned, head still tilted away, just a little. “No, they were green, weren’t they,” he said, and Crowley stopped breathing.

“They –”

“Your eyes, I mean,” said Aziraphale. “They were green.”

“Yes,” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale’s gaze came back to Crowley. They were standing very close, Aziraphale’s hands still resting on Crowley’s arms. Crowley felt Aziraphale’s hands move, and he knew, with plenty of time to stop it if he wanted, exactly what Aziraphale was about to do.

Slowly, Aziraphale reached up and removed Crowley’s sunglasses. He stared into Crowley’s red-rimmed yellow eyes.

“But of course they’re much better now,” Aziraphale whispered, smiling a little.

Crowley couldn’t have looked away if he wanted to. Aziraphale’s smile, the tenderness in his eyes, hearing that he _preferred_ – well. It was too much.

The lights in the theatre dimmed twice to signal the end of the intermission. Aziraphale, possibly feeling encouraged by Crowley’s relative calm, said, “Shall we head back–”

Crowley kissed him. He leaned in, caught Aziraphale’s mouth with his, and kissed him, eyes falling closed.

Aziraphale made a little noise of surprise and Crowley forced himself away before he could upset Aziraphale any further.

The angel looked as startled as he sounded, and Crowley reached out to touch his face, unable to help himself. “I’m sorry,” Crowley whispered, even as he brought his other hand up to the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he said again, bringing their foreheads together. Then, “I’m in love with you, Aziraphale.”

“My dear,” said Aziraphale, bringing a hand up to hold Crowley’s wrist.

Despite his apologies, Crowley couldn’t move away. He clutched Aziraphale, leaning into him, closing his eyes and savouring his closeness. He knew he’d just made some kind of unthinkable confession, but he felt burned away, raw. Like holy water had lit a path through his veins and was about to consume him.

Aziraphale’s fingers dotted against Crowley’s cheekbone, but Crowley couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t slow his breathing. Aziraphale hadn’t moved away. Maybe his surprise at the kiss was just that – surprise. Maybe he hadn’t hated it at all. Aziraphale leaned into Crowley’s desperate embrace, hands not leaving him. Crowley felt a thumb wipe away an errant tear. Their foreheads still touched each other’s, their breaths mingled between them.

It was so little to go on – it was _nothing_ to go on – and Crowley still couldn’t stop going always, always too fast.

“Marry me,” he breathed.

This time Aziraphale did jerk away. Crowley’s eyes flew open to watch Aziraphale take a startled stumble back, his hands dropping.

“What did you say?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley followed him, stepping forward as Aziraphale stepped back. He saw the shock in Aziraphale’s eyes, the way his mouth had fallen open a bit. The lights dimmed again.

He had, he _had_ to give Aziraphale a little more room. He forced himself to sway back just a bit. Instead, he reached both hands out towards his oldest friend, his best friend, and prayed for a miracle.

Aziraphale’s hands came up, clasping Crowley’s, though he still seemed stunned, and like he wasn’t aware what his hands had done at all.

And Crowley knew he still couldn’t lean in again. Hand holding was hardly a yes. So instead he forced his body to keep that slight breadth of distance and did the only other thing he could think of. He sank to his knees.

Staring up at the utterly stunned angel, the world no longer ending, and his heart bared before the world, something funny happened to Crowley: he began to laugh.

“Crowley?” asked Aziraphale, tightening his grip on Crowley’s hands as though to remind him that he was being crazy.

Crowley grinned. He already knew that. “Marry me, angel,” he said again, face twisting with a mad smile. “I’ve loved you since the beginning, and I’ve never stopped. You’re my best friend. I’ll give you anything. Just – please say yes.” He loved this man-shaped star, and while he may have gone from a kiss to a marriage proposal in under a minute, he knew what he wanted, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to beg Aziraphale for the world.

Aziraphale’s face was doing something funny. He would start to smile, then quickly frown, then stare a little as though he weren’t sure where he was or what he was doing.

“You mean to tell me,” Aziraphale said slowly, “that you love me–”

“Yes.”

“And want to be with me –”

“Yes.”

“And have … sexual relations?”

_“Yes.”_

Aziraphale thought about this. “Live together?” he tried.

“Be together forever,” Crowley clarified.

“Have my name on the Bentley?”

_“Angel!”_

Aziraphale grinned. Crowley felt something astonishing open up in his chest.

“Well – yes,” said Aziraphale, his smile turning bright and delighted, “Yes, I would be honoured to marry you.”

The crowd burst into applause. Aziraphale pulled Crowley back to his feet and brought a hand around the back of his head to pull him into the sweetest kiss imaginable. Crowley melted into Aziraphale’s arms, disbelieving, and so, so happy. The angel agreed – _his_ angel agreed.

“You mean it,” Crowley whispered, trembling into the kiss. “You really want–”

“I do,” Aziraphale whispered back.

“But … you never–”

“My dear boy,” Aziraphale murmured, “I can admit that I didn’t want this from the beginning–” Crowley’s heart stopped – “but I’ve wanted this longer than you’re no doubt thinking. Although I have to admit that this was a little faster than I thought it might be…”

Crowley breathed a laugh.

Aziraphale smiled. “But it’s still perfect. Crowley. Crowley, I love you.”

Tears welled up again in Crowley’s treacherous eyes, but he closed them tight and kissed the angel for all he was worth. Aziraphale slipped his tongue just a fraction into Crowley’s mouth, just a slight slide of tongues, and Crowley shuddered out of the kiss, suddenly terrified and feeling the weight of hundreds of eyes on them.

Aziraphale looked perfectly and suspiciously perfectly innocent, but he also seemed to notice the crowd of people at the same time Crowley did. The actors had clearly heard about the drama in the lobby and had come to investigate. Puck shot them a thumbs up.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley kept his arm firm around Aziraphale’s middle and refused to let go. “Shall we stick around to the end of the play, angel?” Crowley asked, unable to keep the grin off his face now, though he did slide his sunglasses back on.

“Oh yes,” said Aziraphale, finally conceding a short bow to the still-cheering audience (Crowley curtseyed) and threading their fingers together. “I think I’m coming around to happy endings.”


End file.
